An Emissaries tale
by Phipper91
Summary: In these chapters, the mysteries and secrets of the Haradrim and Easterlings shall be revealed!


**Tolkien Fanfiction: An emissaries' tale**

Disclaimer: All characters, names, events, places etc. part of the original Tolkien law are all property of Mr John Ronald Reuel Tolkien. I own nothing, aside from my personal additions. All my coined personal names, named events and places, are quoted in inverted commas.

**Prologue: A loss of a realms servant…**

The year was 2984 of the third age. News came quickly to the ears of Denethor, the young heir to the stewardship throne of Gondor, of the death of his father Ecthelion, now in lineage for nearly one thousand years. That news, despite the hard, wise nature of Denethor, still came with a shock. His young beautiful wife Finduilas of Dol Amroth, along with his sons Boromir and Faramir, appeared to react with even more shock. His eldest son Boromir, though only six, who had built a strong affinity with his wise, yet ailing grandfather, was arguably the most outwardly saddened by Ecthelions' loss. Weeping into his mother's chest, Finduilas comforted her son as best she could, herself weeping slightly at the loss of her father in law. Faramir too cried, though he perhaps cried in mere panic and confusion, with the one year old Faramir being too young to have built a true bond with his grandfather.

Denethor's shock however, passed quickly. He knew that his 98 year old father had not long left, having outlived Denethor's mother, 'Anflia', by twelve years. After grieving with his immediate family for a day or so, his mind turned to solitude and what should be done next. With his wife, sons and high council of Gondor obliging his wish for solitude for a time before his coronation, he shut himself into privacy in the deepest chambers of the tower of Ecthelion I.

He knew fully aware of the ever encroaching darkness into not only the realm of Gondor, but into his own family's life. Gondor's place in Middle Earth stood on the edge of a knife. They had few allies to call upon; the relationship with the Elves being tenuous at best, the Dwarves as isolationist and secluded as ever, and the Kingdoms of Esgaroth and Dale being too distant to ever consider to rely upon for help. Only the new kingdom of Rohan to the North West, and perhaps the Wizard Saruman at Isengard could be considered reliable allies, though Saruman's true allegiance at times could often be questioned…

The threats to Gondors borders grew by the day. The once great province of Ithilien, with its great capital Minas Ithil having been lost for nearly a millennium, had been completely abandoned, alongside Osgiliath, now a mere ruin for 500 years. Daily, reports of Orcs, trolls and Men of the East and South were given by the rangers of Ithilien, with no apparent end to the numbers. Although Gondor west of the Anduin remained relatively strong, only time could tell how long the kingdom as a whole could withstand the unwavering strength of Sauron's forces, with Corsair raids from Umbar still raiding the coastlands of Gondor, hindering trade, as well as garrisons that could be defending Gondors eastern borders.

Upon that thought, Denethor asked himself a question: "Why do the Southrons and the Easterlings continue to raid and attack our borders?" Brushing that statement off, he merely rebuked that statement, saying, "They are savages- they care only about serving Sauron." However, he continued thinking. "But why? The swarthy men of the East and South must some level of understanding as men, surely they must have more affinity to their fellow men, than Orcs?" He pondered this question long into the night, until he emerged the next day, and greeted his family and subjects cordially. Nothing, for the time being, was said of his thoughts, and his father's funeral, as well as his stewardship coronation, proceeded with all the pomp and ceremony as one might expect.

**Chapter 1: Lessons to a dear son…**

Three years had passed. Denethor had thus far proven to be a popular steward, gaining popular support both in Minas Tirith and Anorien, as well as the Southern outlands, perhaps due to his marriage to Finduilas of Dol Amroth. Boromir, now Nine years old, was growing into a strong, relatively intelligent lad. With an eager fighting spirit, he perhaps had a slightly hotter temperament than his father, which his father greatly admired; perhaps seeing a use for him as a great warrior steward in years to come. Faramir, on the other hand, appeared to be a gentler soul. Though still aged only four, he remained very close to his mother, and, though young, was already reading and making conversation at an advanced level for his age. Though Denethor loved his son Faramir dearly, he wondered what use Faramir may have to the realm of Gondor? A Diplomat? Surely not a job for a stewards son? A scholar? Who knows? Nevertheless, it seemed clear from the earliest outset that Faramir did not possess the mind-set of a warrior.

"Some Chicken, Cheese, tomatoes, Rye bread with Wine if you will please!" Denethor boldly exclaimed to his servants, who happily obliged to serve his favourite meal. The time was shortly after midday, on the 16th of May, 2987. Most mundane matters of the day thus far had been settled, tax rates examined, trade summaries of the provinces and foreign trade entering the white city overviewed, in addition to witnessing a brief military procession shortly before lunch.

"Aclamion!" Denethor stated to his servant with a mouth full of food.

"Yes my steward?" he replied.

"Fetch my son Boromir- he will no doubt be in the midst of his tutorage, but I'm sure the tutors will understand the steward's specific request".

"As you wish my lord", Aclamion replied, and hurried off to fetch the steward's son.

Boromir was sat in the most prestigious School in the White city. Located on the Sixth tier of the White city, it was one of two Schools on that level, and undoubtedly the one preferred by the gentry and ruling classes. Arithmetic class had just finished. Of all the subjects Boromir studied, arithmetic was amongst his favourite- his calculating, analytical, warrior-like mind preferring hard fact, as opposed to the fanciful pursuits of languages and the arts. He nevertheless still enjoyed learning the wide history of the Gondorian realm. An hours recess was called for lunch. He was looking forward to a good play brawl with his friends- from an early age, he enjoyed seeing himself as a saviour of Gondor. In these games, a decision would be made- who would be Gondor's men, and who would be Orcs. Of course, 8 times out of 10, the 'Gondor team' would win. Boromir's lunch playtime would be cut short today however, upon the summoning of officials from the White tower. Boromir thought to himself, "Oh father's not going to be pleased with me today- but what have I done?"

Boromir, along with Aclamion, reached the chambers of the Tower of Ecthelion. Denethor came out immediately to greet his son, albeit with a stern look on his face.

"Are you angry with me father? Have I done something wrong?"

"You have done nothing of the sort Boromir. In fact I am very proud of you, and wish to talk to you in private." "Aclamion, leave us." He did so, with a bow.

"Do you know why I have called you home early today Boromir?" He shook his head. "It's because I want to talk to you about Gondor. What do you know about Gondor?"

"I know that we are the true sons of Numenor. The Dunedain. We are the proud kingdom of men, and we defend the west with our blood. Our kingdom is large and prosperous", Boromir answered.

"I see you have been learning your lessons well", Denethor said. "And that is most encouraging", he said with a warm smile. "But in truth, things are never that simple. Let me show you something. Denethor guided Boromir to the other side of the room, where a series of scrolls and parchments were strewn out on a large, oak table. Boromir sat down, with wide open eyes. Across the table were a range of maps, written trade and truce agreements, as well as military reports.

"What are these father"?

"This my son, is what they will never teach you at school. Or perhaps not even in the great Universities of Pelargir or Minas Tirith!" "Ever since the death of the last king at the hands of the Witch King of Angmar, Gondors greatest embarrassments have largely been kept secret from the rest of the population". "Most people believe it was either suicide, or starvation that killed him. It was his own arrogance and stupidity to openly challenge a Nazgul in combat".

Boromir looked shocked, almost unable to believe what he was hearing.

"The truth is son, Gondor grows weaker by the month", Denethor continued. "Our people are slowly dying. Sauron knows we are his biggest adversary, and is hence throwing almost everything he has at us. We do not know how much more we can take".

"Do you know what became of the lands of the North? The realm of Arnor?" Denethor asked, whilst producing a map of the current realm of Eriador to his son.

"It feel into decay!" Boromir replied. "Its own people grew weary and abandoned the realm".

"Yes, it is true that it did for a time split into three kingdoms: Arthedain, Cardolan and Rhudaur. But it wasn't merely abandoned. It was destroyed. 90% of its people slaughtered. Only a few rugged Dunedain in a few small towns and villages North of Breeland and the Halflings Shire now remain."

"Sauron destroyed it!?" Boromir exclaimed.

"No Boromir. Not Sauron. Sauron had not returned after his defeat from the last alliance at the time. It was the Witch King. The same Witch King who killed our last king."

"Do you know what else destroyed Arnor, and is also eating away at Gondor as we speak?"

Boromir shook his head.

"Men" Denethor replied. "Stupid men- not just from attack, as Rhudaur in Arnor did, but from our own disunity. The fact that Arnor split into three states simply helped the Witch King finish the realm".

"It is men that are partly destroying Gondor at the very moment too".

"But they are savages" Boromir interrupted. "The swarthy Southrons and Easterlings are evil, servants of Sauron. They do not care about anyone but themselves and their master Sauron."

"Indeed, they serve, and fight for Sauron", continued Denethor. "And it is terrible that they do so". "But why do they do so?" Denethor asked Boromir.

Boromir looked puzzled. No one, including his father, had ever asked him a question like that before. He shrugged.

"I do not know either, save for the case of Umbar. Their corrupt governors, once part of Gondor, fell under the sway of the Haradrim. They accordingly rebelled, and we have never been able to reclaim the province of the South".

"To cut it short Boromir, I wish to come to some kind of accord with the men we fight. Both the men of Harad and Rhun. Whether this will work I do not know, but we as a kingdom cannot do this alone."

Boromir, looking interested, nodded his head.

"Now listen to me Boromir." Denethor stated sharply. "You are not to speak to anyone of what we have talked about, until I announce my plans of what we have discussed publicly. Not to your friends, not to my friends, not to my councillors, not even to your Mother and Faramir. Do you understand? If word reaches my ear that you have gossiped this, you will be punished harshly. I may even place Faramir as my heir instead of you, if you do not agree to this. Do you understand?"

"Yes." Boromir nodded nervously.

"Good", Denethor said calmly, a smile returning to his lips. "Do not worry son. I have every confidence that you will not. You do not have to return to school today, you have probably learnt more this last hour or so, than you will learn for the rest of this month. You may return to our living quarters."

Two hours later, Denethor spoke to his council of advisors.

"I wish to send word to Elrond of Rivendell, Saruman the White, and Gandalf the Grey."

"Of what concern my lord?" The council replied.

"That is one that I myself am not totally sure of yet. But I have an idea. This matter is not to be disclosed in the realm of Gondor, until they reach the white city", Denethor said, producing a letter.

"Very well then my steward. Our rider will set out before dusk".


End file.
